On wings ….
You serenade of
You soul of psalms
You are Plato
In the music of
You rest now in
In the pathos
His name is Danny. He came to visit me yesterday. His conception of the world is one of myth. When my autistic son gave him a shake-hand, he said he was a KUTTICHATAN (an evil spirit in his past birth). His words were a contradiction of sorts. He was of the opinion that a cosmic, nature energy is serenading the earth. Slowly our talk drifted on to the Sermon on the Mount. He said Christ did not say it as it was written by the disciples. He told me that Christ was a star. Then our discussion rambled on to belief and faith. I told him that Christ said: ‘I am the way: the truth: and the life and whosoever believes in me shall have everlasting life’. Then our speech drifted on to the origins of language. He said: ‘language is a shadow of leafs’. I told him it is a figure of speech a metaphor. Then our dialogue went on to idol worship. I told him that in Bible there’s a verse that yea shall not worship anything on that walks or crawls on land, anything that flies in the sky and anything that swims in the water. I am a jealous God who will bless those who serve me and curse those who don’t obey my word. Then our narrative went on to serpent. I told him that serpent worship is idolatry and blasphemy. He told me very absurdly that human ears resemble a serpent as they can be stretched. When I told him that we should worship God alone, he said ‘I am Christ; I am the sun; Christ is the sun I am God’.
While traveling on a scooter, I was asked by a stranger for a lift. I dropped him off at the desired destination and he said: ‘thank you very much Pastor’. Him calling me pastor struck my ears with delight even though I was not a pastor. I wonder if I have the spiritual calling to be a pastor.
I live in a joint family. My sister with her daughters and two dogs and my mother stay with me. The dogs are a bloody nuisance. They scrape and bark and create a superfluous pandemonium. We don’t trust each other. When my sister goes out she locks the door and carries the key. My sister and my wife are not on good terms with each other.
We all know how Joseph, hated by his brothers out of jealousy, sold him to the Egyptians. There he became a supervisor in Potiphar’s household. When Potiphar’s wife tried to seduce the handsome Joseph, he did not relent. She accused him of molestation and Potiphar threw him into jail. In prison he was able to successfully interpret the dreams put forth by the baker and the wine maker. Later on he was called by the Pharaoh to interpret his dreams which he did ebulliently. The pharaoh placed him as the second in command next to him and asked him to stockpile food for the coming drought. Joseph as an idiom stands for the evolution of triumph or victory after a period of disaster and ruin. How I wish for a period of Joseph to happen in my life.
I wanted to get a disability certificate for my son who is having autism and so I had to go to the government hospital. The bathroom was horrible and un-cleaned with lumps of shit and urine lying all around. As I was sitting in the psychiatric ward, there was a huge notice board and on it was written—number of people with STDS counseled—number of condoms distributed. A smile broke out on my lips.
Nothing much happened to me. Life went on like a boring breeze. My sleep has become better and I have cut down on cigarettes. I listened to a Facebook video by Joyce Carol Oates on the art of writing. Though very short, it was very interesting. A writer has to think and feel all the unsaid—the inner consciousness of the mind. A writer’s consciousness is very special. A writer is a person who is very sensitive. When overcome with feeling, when in the emotional cauldron of the mind, the first steps of planting the writing begins.
I had a strange dream. In it I was having intercourse with my wife. It’s not something to wonder about as my sex life is rather starved. Yes Freud is right; dreams are wish-fulfillment of desires.
I savored the beauty of the sunrise with a mystic passion. I heard the chirps and tweets of birds singing a fond lullaby.
I took an English Class for the 8th graders, the story being 6 Napoleons by Sherlock Holmes. I am not a big fan of pulp fiction, but I enjoyed the plotting of the story. Conan Doyle is a master of storytelling. In the story we find the busts of Napoleons being broken to rubble. Then we come to understand that it is the work of an escaped convict who had placed a priceless pearl in one of those busts. Sherlock Holmes discovers that the 6th Napoleon is to be burgled and makes a plan to catch the intruder. The robber is caught and Holmes smashes the head of the bust to recover the valuable pearl.
I read the Bible and in it the Story of Moses. Moses was born at a time when the Pharaoh persecuted the Jews and ordered that all the male children be beheaded. When Moses was a baby, his mother put him in a reed basket and placed him in the Nile. When the Pharaoh’s daughter saw the basket, she asked her maid to fetch it. She adopted the baby as her own son. The mother of Moses was called to look after her own son. When Moses was a young man, he saw an Egyptian hitting a Jew and then in a fit of anger, he killed him. When the Pharaoh found it out, Moses had to flee to Midian. There he married a Priest’s Daughter.
Goddess itch belonged to the tickly-too kingdom. She invaded my body and started irritating me. She spread her tentacles on my legs, on my back, on my face, and even on my balls. To get rid of her I decided not to bathe. At last she left me unable to bear my smell.